


The Meaning of Vigilance

by reellifejaneway



Series: Dragon Age: One-Shots [15]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Blow Jobs, F/M, Floor Sex, Fluff and Smut, Heterosexual Sex, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Prompt Fill, Shameless Smut, Smut, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 12:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3692901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reellifejaneway/pseuds/reellifejaneway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Landsmeet looming over Denerim and Queen Anora preparing to reclaim the throne of Ferelden, Alistair retires to his study for a few moments of peace. But when Amell decides to torture him under the desk during an important meeting, Alistair finds himself in a much more awkward – and enticing – situation than he originally anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Meaning of Vigilance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chaosfay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaosfay/gifts).



> Original prompt: oral under the desk during a meeting or something to that effect. A definitely NSFW one-shot requested by the wonderful chaosfay - and one of my first fics with the delightful Alistair! Be warned, I regret nothing. Alistair and the world of Thedas all belong to Bioware. Jasmine Amell belongs to chaosfay. I’m just a fangirl who can’t let go...

It was well past sundown by the time Alistair retired to his sanctuary. The noise within the walls of his uncle’s estate had seemed so much less torturous in his youthful memories. Now, the incessant chatter of nobles and the tireless planning for the Landsmeet was finally beginning to fray on his nerves.

King or not, they needed him present. And that alone was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat.

Alistair closed the study door behind him, suddenly grateful that his uncle had the foresight to provide him with such a private space. It had to be better than standing there in the corner of the library, feeling like a human statue as he observed and pretended in silence. To be entirely truthful, Alistair wasn’t completely sure what had made his uncle think he would make a good king in the first place. Just listening to them discuss politics made his head hurt. If he focused hard enough he could understand it, but it wasn’t his level of understanding that made his stomach pitch at the thought of that crown. He had too much that he loved now, too many things he would miss if he were crowned and then forced to give them up. He would always be a Grey Warden before all else. Surely Eamon could understand that.

Alistair shuddered as he eased his weary body down into the low armchair, stretching his sore legs out beneath the vast mahogany desk. The fire burning in the nearby hearth did little to ease the dull ache that had settled in his bones. At least the study was quieter; that much he would take comfort in.

Alistair reminded himself that at least his uncle was amenable. He had agreed to let Warden Amell broker some form of agreement with the nobles after all - and with Anora.

Folding his hands over his face, he let out a weak sigh.

_Anora Mac Tir._ His dead brother’s wife, Loghain’s daughter, and one of the haughtiest, coldest women he’d ever beheld. Not that she wasn’t beautiful, clever or capable, it was simply that he found it difficult to look upon her in a good light. First she had given him and Amell up to be held prisoner in Fort Drakon, and second, Eamon had practically offered Alistair’s hand in marriage to her, despite his prior emotional investment. He still didn’t know how his lover, Jasmine, had kept her face so utterly blank while standing there beside him at that ludicrous meeting. Surely she had been equally as mortified at the notion.

The memory still made him cringe.

It had been twenty-four hours since then. The landsmeet would take place on the morrow, and consequently Alistair had spent most of his evening in talks with Eamon, Teagan and a cluster of other notables. They still had much to discuss, but Alistair had persuaded Eamon for a brief reprieve. They would resume the discussion here, in Alistair’s study, but only once the Warden had time to recoup and Alistair had pieced together his thoughts. After all, the fate of Ferelden weighed upon them now. King or not, Alistair had a duty to perform and he would help as best he could to bring unity back to his country.

At least, he would _try_ to help by staying as quiet as possible and letting his uncle do the talking. Because he knew the moment he saw Loghain, Alistair would be battling not only his own personal urge to make light of bad situations (something Eamon had already warned him not to do under any circumstances), but also the irrational compulsion to leap over Loghain’s body guards and strike the traitor down on the spot. The thought of him and Loghain locked in a heroic dual to the death had appealed to him many times over the past few weeks. It would take more than his own restraint to resist the temptation should the circumstance ever arise.

He paused for a moment, tenting his fingers in front of his lips - the taste of spiced wine from dinner still lingering - and contemplated that last thought. Alistair shook his head. It was an indescribably strange feeling to have to hold himself back from murdering someone and bursting out laughing at the same time.

Alistair jumped when he heard the study door creak open then, his honey-coloured eyes instantly shooting toward the darkened hallway.

“Oh! You startled me,” he stammered, recognising the silhouette of his lover and fellow grey warden. “I have been expecting a visit from Eamon. For a moment I thought it was him stopping by early.”

The small figure leaning against the door frame tilted her head slightly, her braids slipping free of their usual confines and brushing against what Alistair suddenly realised were bare shoulders. “Eamon stayed behind at dinner, talking to some important guests. I decided to... take advantage of the situation.”

Alistair’s throat went dry as she stepped into the light.

Jasmine Amell was tiny in comparison to Alistair. Where his shoulders were broad, Jasmine’s were narrow; where his physique was well-built and muscular, hers was slender and subtly toned. But her size was one of the things he loved most about her. Well that and her aptitude for... _other_ talents.

“I… I take it you finished negotiating with Anora?” Alistair managed to croak out, but his voice failed him when she eased the door shut behind her. The bolt was drawn shut with a decisive click and suddenly he found himself combating a _very_ dry throat. Alistair’s eyes wandered down his lover’s curvaceous figure, his cheeks warming at the suggestive sway of her hips - and the glint in her eye as she stepped across the woven throw rug.

Jasmine was wearing a loosely-belted gown, an emerald brocade garment that shone with gold thread and hung enticingly off her shoulders. Beneath the deep, v-shaped neckline, Alistair could see the gentle curve of her bosom, the sweeping scars that marked her chest so uniquely , the dip at the centre of her throat - each breath making the glowing porcelain skin rise and fall with delicious appeal.

“You could say that,” Jasmine smirked, reaching up to give one shoulder of that robe a little encouragement, the heavy fabric sliding down her shoulder easily and revealing her collarbone to his lust-intoxicated gaze. “I’m sure you’ll be happy with the outcome. She was only too willing to take the responsibility for the throne.”

Alistair’s mind was already far too busy with processing the sight before him to fully come to terms with what she was telling him. “And that means…”

“You’re free,” she whispered, rounding his chair and dragging slender, pale fingers along the back of the seat. “ _We_ are free.”

His shoulders slumped, sinking back against the padded chair in relief. But no sooner had he begun to exhale his pent-up breath than Jasmine had leaned over the rise of the armchair, grasped his head and tilted it back so that she could claim his open mouth for herself.

Any utterance died in Alistair’s throat when Jasmine’s tongue trailed along the edge of his lower lip. He sighed, reaching up to cradle the back of her neck as she bent down over him. The feeling of her parted lips on his set his blood to boiling. Jasmine Amell was _intoxicating_ , the physical embodiment of a passion that was both soft and _burning_ and so utterly consuming that his body couldn’t help but willingly surrender. It was unusual for her to be so dominant, so possessive. But he only thought on that for a moment: once her tongue wound into his mouth, his mind went blank. All that he knew was her, her scent, her maddening sighs and the beautifully sharp taste of wine on her lips. Their kiss only grew fiercer, breaths heated and gasping in those few fleeting moments between. Clashing teeth; lips that suckled and pulled and nibbled in desperation; tongues intertwined in a dance so intense that by the time Jasmine pulled away, Alistair’s head was spinning. She lingered above him tortuously, faces parted by little more than a breath and a thread of saliva from his slick lips. He let out a weak gasp and stared up at her upside-down smile with dazed awe.

“I thought we could celebrate,” Jasmine whispered, pulling herself upright with a seductive arch of her back.

Now as she rounded the chair to stand before him, Alistair wanted nothing more than to pull her into him and kiss that exquisite bosom, to lavish upon her chest all the same attentions that she had so recklessly lavished upon his mouth; to taste her scars, to follow them down and across her magnificent body…

His hunger must have shown on his face because Jasmine smirked, biting at her lip. “I see you like this idea,” she murmured softly, cupping his chin with one small hand.

“Mmm,” Alistair nuzzled into her wrist with a sigh. “We don’t have much time. The meeting...?”

“Won’t happen for at least an hour yet,” Jasmine interrupted him. Then, with remarkable flexibility, she shimmied up her floor-length robe and slid into his empty lap. “Plenty of time,” she winked, laughing breathlessly as she captured his lips in another heated kiss.

Alistair moaned, hands instinctively gripping her waist. She was grinding down into him, each movement stirring that burning sensation deep within him. He whispered her name against her lips, sighing hungrily into her mouth. “Jasmine...”

She giggled then, biting at his lower lip and angling her head just so, deepening their kiss. Alistair was already alarmingly hard. Her assertiveness was driving him wild – he made a deep groan in the back of his throat, tongue winding into her mouth in encouragement. Fingers, blindly seeking, inched up the skin of her thighs and coursed along her hip...

“You’re not wearing any smalls,” Alistair murmured, grinning in approval.

Jasmine sighed and wriggled her body against his. “I had to give you some extra incentive.” Her sensitive fingers began to toggle with the buttons on his tunic.

Alistair’s eyes sought out her grey ones. “What—what are you doing?”

Jasmine’s irises flickered in the candlelight. “I love seeing your chest,” she hummed, nuzzling at the patch of exposed hair that curled in golden strands against his skin. “And I love watching you get all flustered when I do this...” Her small, pink tongue darted out and flicked against Alistair’s nipple.

He reacted instantly, gripping her shoulders with so much force that Jasmine wondered if he was about to try and pull her off him. Instead, Alistair seemed to drag her body closer, his head lolling back against the chair when she licked at his muscles.

“Minx,” he hissed, groaning audibly as she scraped her teeth over the sensitive spot.

Jasmine simply laughed, the sound bubbling up from inside her and sending ripples of pleasure through him from where her lips pressed against his skin. Her hands drifted down his torso, instinctively seeking out his belt. Deft fingers quickly rid him of the impediment and artfully slid beneath the fabric to play against his painfully hard length.

She smiled up at him from beneath sultry lashes. “And you love me for it.”

“Jasmine—”

Alistair opened his mouth to formulate a response, but all coherent thought evaporated when she dipped her head to lay soft kisses on his belly. Her sly hands brushed against the edge of his breeches, making his eyes widen at the promise of sweet torture. Red hair escaped her braid, cascading around her face. Jasmine moved slowly, taking her time as she bestowed wicked little kisses and licks across the tingling skin of his lower abdomen. Her soft fingertips stroked against his arousal teasingly, making him let out his breath in a gasp, his hips bucking off the chair before he could stop them.

“We – _Maker, Jasmine_ – we can’t...”

Amell’s brow quirked knowingly. “Hmmm,” she murmured, those smooth lips brushed against the tenting fabric of his trousers, watching eagerly as his erection peeked through the gap of the waistband, “and yet your body doesn’t seem to be arguing.” She punctuated that last observation by breathing gently against the tip of him.

The other warden reacted by grasping her chin firmly in his calloused hand, tilting her head up so that she could see the dangerous glint in his eyes. “Really not the best timing, dearest,” he warned. His voice was painfully strained, much like the self control he was attempting to maintain.

Her finger dragged along his exposed slit. “Your body is a traitor, my love – perhaps you ought to do something about that.” And with that, Jasmine bent down to taste him. “Or I could.”

Alistair groaned when he saw the tip of her pink tongue flick against him. Suddenly overwhelmed, he found himself digging his fingers into the wooden armrests, one last protest escaping through clenched teeth. “Jasmine—”

A knock rang harshly against the door.

Jasmine froze, staring up at him quizzically. Then a shrewd smile broke across her face. “Eamon is always so punctual.”

“You—?”

“Knew he was on his way upstairs? Yes, yes I did.” The redhead’s eyes flashed. “I couldn’t resist the opportunity to see you flustered like this.”

Alistair’s cheeks burned as another knock sounded – this time, more urgently.

“Hide!” He hissed, struggling to do up his tunic with shaking hands.

“Where?” Jasmine retorted acerbically, adding, “It’s not like I would fit in your weapons chest and that’s the only spot I can see.”

Alistair’s eyes darted to and fro, weighing his options frantically. Then he finally blurted, “Under the desk!”

“What?”

The next knock was determined, a ‘one-last-warning’ rap that instilled a new sense of panic in the flustered warrior. His brows furrowed and angled so dramatically that Jasmine wondered if he would ever get them unstuck again. 

“Hide under the desk – quickly!” The warrior was pleading with her now. “If they see you I’ll never live it down.”

She shook her head and climbed off his knees. “It’s not like our relationship is a _secret_ , Alistair—”

“I know but—please, just...” Alistair silenced her with a fleeting kiss, and then gently urged her to curl into the small, concealed nook beneath the mahogany desk. “I promise I’ll send them away as soon as I can.”

Jasmine folded her knees to her chest and heaved a dramatic sigh. “You had _better_ make this up to me.”

“I promise.” Standing as steadily he could and straightening his shirt, Alistair crossed the room in two swift steps – before glancing down and suddenly rethinking his strategy. “Maker!” He snatched up a book from the desk, holding it _very_ strategically over his straining breeches, before doubling back and throwing the door wide open. “Ah, Arl Eamon!” He announced, perhaps a tad too loudly. “There you are...”

Only it _wasn_ _’t_ Arl Eamon who stared back at him. It was, in fact, Anora Mac Tir who had been pounding on the door. Eamon and Teagan stood quietly a few feet behind her.

“There _you_ are,” the blonde returned, her icy eyes surveying the – apparently – empty room behind him. “I hope that you will forgive the interruption, Warden. I do apologise if I interrupted you at an,” she shot a scornful frown down at the expertly positioned book, “ _inconvenient_ moment.”

“O-oh of course,” Alistair frowned, hurriedly stepping out of the way as Anora swept past him into the study. “What... What might I do for you, your highness?” The double-meaning behind the words hit him then and he floundered, “I mean, what can I offer – provide?” The Grey Warden winced at the Queen-to-be’s retreating back, a glare from Eamon colouring him even redder than he already was. _Maker save me._ “What is it you would like to discuss?”

The angle of Anora’s chin only seemed to heighten the further she stepped inside the small room. He watched in a mixture of awe and terror, wondering how she could turn her head let alone talk with her nose held so high in the air. Did it hurt to hold her neck so straight?

Eamon cleared his throat then, and Alistair jolted. _Right, close the door you fool._

“As I was saying to Teagan at dinner,” Anora commenced the moment the bolt was drawn, “I am grateful that the Grey Wardens have no wish to complicate matters further at the Landsmeet. When Amell came to speak with me, I was certain she would ask for a deal of some sort - bargain for the right to hold some say in the future of Ferelden’s monarchy. I was pleasantly surprised.”

Alistair’s brow arched in disgust at her arrogant tone, but he bit his tongue. Instead he walked calmly back towards the desk. That’s when he saw it - a corner of one emerald brocade robe, only just visible beneath the foot of the desk.

_Merciful Andraste!_

“Yes, Warden Amell has made some excellent suggestions regarding the Landsmeet arrangements,” Eamon nodded, folding his arms and stepping in front of the hearth. “With so many nobles on our side, surely Loghain will see sense in backing down.”

Alistair bit his lip, praying he looked calmer than he felt. He sidled up to the desk, shuffling casually until his legs just concealed the protruding fabric.

“Backing down?” Anora shook her head. “My father does not ‘back down’, Eamon. He’s a general. He knows better than to voluntarily give up a position of power.”

“Can you convince him?” Alistair offered, leaning back against the solid mahogany board shielding Jasmine from their eyes. With a surreptitious flex of his boot, he shoved the slip of brocade back beneath the desk. A vague snort of amusement sounded from behind him, and he rushed to cover the sound: “After all, you are his daughter. If anyone can make him see reason it is you.”

“He will not wish to fight me, that much is true. But he will not readily accept defeat.”

Teagan sighed then. “The man has a point, Anora. You have the most power at the Landsmeet - the support of the nobles, sway over your father, more so than any other could hope to have.”

“We _must_ have a strategy,” Eamon insisted.

Alistair jumped when he heard a muffled thump beneath the desk. “Ah yes, strategy!” He said - a little too loudly perhaps, for suddenly all the eyes in the room were locked on him. “I uh… I don’t really have any ideas. In fact, I’m feeling a little tired. I think I’ll uh, sit down now.”

Teagan at least looked a _little_ sympathetic to his plight. Alistair shook his head slightly and eased himself into his armchair once more, setting aside the disguising book he no longer needed. For a moment the Grey Warden nearly forgot about the tiny woman curled up in a ball around his legs.

That is, until she began to move.

And it wasn’t just to get comfortable either. Jasmine was shifting about, her hands appearing unexpectedly to grip the chair. Dangerously eager fingers began to creep up the leather seat on either side of Alistair’s hips.

He glanced down in horror, then back up at his guests. They seemed quite embroiled in a heated discussion about tactics and politics - two things that he suddenly had even less interest in. In a split-second decision, Alistair quickly shifted the armchair closer to the desk. His freedom was gone, but at least this way they wouldn’t see Jasmine.

Unfortunately, the movement earned him a swift slap to the knee, and Alistair yelped.

Eamon and Anora instantly fell silent, three sets of curious eyes turning upon him once more.

“Sorry I uh, I hit my knee on the underside of the table,” he lied, his cheeks flushing a conspicuous shade of red.

_Brilliant. If they didn_ _’t think I was a fool before…_

Then he felt fabric drape over his boots - two warm, soft thighs pinning his ankles firmly in place as Jasmine knelt over his legs.

_What in the Maker_ _’s name are you doing down there?_ Alistair’s eyes widened, his mind conjuring up images that were far too risky and _arousing_ and surely she wasn’t…  She wouldn’t…

She did.

Eager, slender fingers reappeared at his waist, softly, deftly tugging at his far-too-tight breeches. It only took Jasmine a moment to make the already loosened belt fall open, rendering the stays little more than tangled laces hanging uselessly on either side of his hips.

Alistair swallowed nervously, forcing his eyes up and away from the clever hand that was now invading his trousers. Cool air flooded against his skin and he felt his flesh prickle.

_Stay calm. Just breathe, don_ _’t focus on it… Don’t — Oh Maker!_

His eyes nearly rolled back in his head when Jasmine swept the pad of one delicate thumb over the head of his shaft. A spark of want blossomed low in his belly, shooting up his spine and sending tingles of pleasure through his limbs. His fingers dug into the armrests reflexively. Barely even a touch and already he was ready to moan for her! He bit his lower lip, keeping his gaze steady even as the mage began to stroke him ever-so-gently, her hands engulfing his hardening length and squeezing perfectly…

“…should ask for his opinion after all. What do you think Alistair?”

He jumped at the sound of his name, cheeks burning when his three guests rounded on him. Alistair struggled to remember what they had been talking about moments before. Jasmine’s ‘distraction’ had all but drowned out their conversation.

“I… I think…” Another stroke against his tip, and Alistair lost all ability to speak.

“See? He is a _soldier_ , Eamon. Not a politician!” Anora smirked at him as if to prove her point. “If Cailan trusted me to run this country, why can’t you?”

Beneath the table, that wicked little finger was dragging lazy circles around the crown of his length.

_Maker save me_ _…_

Eamon rubbed his forehead, protesting, “We cannot simply trust to chance and pray that the Landsmeet will end well! Now, let us go over the plan one more time…”

Alistair tried to focus, but even taking a breath was becoming difficult. He bit his lip, wincing. Jasmine was not satisfied by simply touching him. She was beginning to pump him now, and it was torture. Her devious thumb found the slick precum that had begun to bead at his tip, swirling it around the head expertly. The friction of her smooth, warm palm against his sensitive skin made him pulse and thicken in her hand. When warm breath ghosted across his erection, Alistair’s hips bucked against her touch of their own volition.

Instantly he bit down on his lip, a cursory glance of the room revealing that once more, Anora and Eamon were embroiled in a fierce debate. Teagan had become distracted by the nearby bookshelf. Alistair breathed a small prayer of thanks before all coherent thought abandoned him.

She was _relentless_. Pleasure thrummed just below the surface of his skin. Alistair wanted desperately to make her stop, to push her away and pull what little remained of his dignity back in place. But as shiver after shiver rolled through him, sapping his strength and his resistance, he found instead that he was sinking down in his chair to allow her better access. Maker, but he was weak for this woman. Jasmine inched her way up his thighs until he felt her core, hot and bare, grind against his leather-clad shins in search of her own fulfilment. Her hands moved to pin his hips in place - preventing him from rocking against her - and then her lips found him. That talented tongue swirled around him, guiding him as he slid into her hot, slick, welcoming mouth…

Instantly Alistair reacted, a high-pitched whine tearing from his throat before he could catch it.

_That_ was far too loud.

“Alistair,” Eamon took a step toward the desk now, “are you quite alright?”

He froze, struggling to regain control of his breathing. “Y-yes,” he rasped, nodding violently, “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” It was Teagan’s turn to query now.

“You do look rather flushed,” Eamon pressed.

“It… It was dinner!” Alistair groaned as Jasmine began to suck at his length, fumbling in his attempts to cover the slip-up. “Yes, dinner… I… I think I ate too much…”

The persistent mage giggled beneath the desk. The sound shot straight through him, and he worked valiantly not to come apart as she grazed her teeth along the sensitive underside of his cock. Rousing himself just barely from his lust-filled haze, Alistair brought his hands to his stomach and bluffed, “Just… Just in a bit of pain. It’s nothing… Nothing really.”

“What if somebody poisoned the dinner? Perhaps we ought to call a healer.” Anora looked truly concerned.

_That was a first_.

His chest constricted yet again when Jasmine took him in even deeper, and he all but groaned aloud. One hand delved into his trousers, cupping him and toying with him until Alistair could hardly breathe. It didn’t help that now she was rubbing herself against his stiffened legs, the heat of her body seeping through the leather and making him want her all the more. He would be lying if he said he hadn’t dreamed of a situation like this. Except, in his fantasies, the guests had left long before this point. Alistair didn’t know how much longer he could take it. He was flushed, sweating, wheezing pathetically at the onslaught of sensations - and utterly helpless to stop them.

Eamon’s mouth moved. The Arl said something about fever, and then suddenly Alistair was aware of a hand moving toward his face.

He pulled back in shock, vaguely aware of Jasmine’s lips slipping off his cock with a faint ‘pop’. Alistair pressed himself hard against the back of the chair. He was breathing hard by now: painfully aroused, mortified at his own compromised position, and grateful that the desk still allowed him meagre privacy from overly-curious eyes.

“I am fine, really! I don’t need a healer. I…” That hand was back in his breeches, tormenting him again and he grit his teeth in defiance. “I… I just need some rest.”

His guests exchanged bewildered glances.

Teagan frowned. “Are you sure, Alistair—?”

“Yes!” He nearly shouted, digging his fingers into the edge of the wooden desk. Jasmine’s questing tongue did not help at all. He wanted nothing more than to draw her up into his lap and take her then and there, but first he had to clear the room. “I think… Ah!” He clutched at his stomach again, giving Jasmine one last desperate shove with his knee, “That I would like to be _left alone_.”

A barely-audible giggle met his ears at that rather conspicuous choice of words. Alistair winced, waiting for somebody to notice, or at least ask what that strange sound was - but the moment never came. For once, luck was in his favour. His guests seemed altogether oblivious to his conundrum.

“If that is what you prefer,” Eamon conceded, “but please consider allowing me to send for—”

“No!” Alistair’s cheeks burned under his uncle’s gaze.

With one last concerned glance, and a weary sigh on Eamon’s part, the group left the room. Anora sashayed out into the hall with little more than a nod of acknowledgement. Teagan gave the Warden a respectful bow before drawing the door closed behind him.

The moment they were gone, Alistair made to stand up. Unfortunately the move was a poorly calculated one - he had made a terrible misjudgement of his own balance. To his dismay, Alistair’s knees gave out and he stumbled over the armchair, sending it and himself tumbling to the floor with a loud crash.

Behind him, he heard Jasmine burst out laughing - and across the room, a pounding on the door.

“Alistair, are you sure you’re alright?”

_“Yes!_ I’m fine!” He insisted for the last time, waiting until the footsteps died away down the hall. Then, moaning in frustration, he rolled onto his back to nurse a bruised elbow.

A vision in emerald swam across his vision, a warm body pressing down upon him.

Jasmine’s smile was devilish. Her eyes sparkled as crawled over him, deliberately running her tongue across her lips.

“You evil woman,” Alistair groaned huskily. But he didn’t mean it. Not truly. His broad arms enveloped her instinctively, drawing her into his chest and holding her fast. Alistair drank of her lips greedily, tasting himself there and savouring every desperate whimper, every pleading gasp and frantically drawn breath.

_Mine. Always mine._

His fingers tugged at her hips, pulling her flush against him. What had been little more than an hour at most felt like an eternity to his clouded mind. All he knew, and all that he _wanted_ to know, was her.

“Jasmine,” he whispered, kissing down her jaw and nibbling at her ear lobe, “that was torment. Sheer,” Alistair licked at her throat, “ _excruciating_ ,” Alistair shivered when her fingers dug into his shoulders, “torment. Not being able to touch you…”

“Is this the part — ah!” She hissed when he bit down on the sensitive curve of her neck. “You promised you’d make it up to me…?”

Alistair pulled away then, staring down at her pointedly. “Make it up to _you_?” He winked.

Jasmine’s eyes widened. Then, with a sweep of those muscular arms, the warrior had reversed their positions. Now Jasmine was the one pinned down on the thickly woven rug. She squealed when he knelt before her, grasping one slender, pale leg and kissing her ankle tenderly. Alistair hummed against her skin, already knowing that the instant his lips tasted her, there would be no stopping him.

“Alistair!” She squirmed at the sensation of his stubble on her skin. “What about the door—?”

“Forget the door,” he hissed, “we’ve waited too long already.”

He began with her toes. One by one he kissed them, working his way up her foot and toward her knee. Bending it and cradling her leg in both hands, he bestowed licks and adorations upon every inch of her skin. All the while, his eyes never broke from hers. Alistair paused halfway up her thigh to scrape his teeth across her sensitive skin, watching entranced as her robes fell open invitingly. She was breathing hard now, eyes studying his intently. Shifting so that he was kneeling between her legs, Alistair slowly untied her brocade sash and pushed the rest of the heavy fabric away. For a moment he was content to drink her in - every curve, every plane and dip of her beautiful body.

“I want to see all of you,” he sighed, bending to feather his lips against hers.

Jasmine tried to arch up into him, and mewled in disappointment when Alistair moved just out of reach. “Tease,” she muttered, pushing herself up on her elbows so that she was barely a hair away from his lips. “Do you really need me to _tell_ you to make love to me? I saw how you clawed at that chair, how you had to hold yourself back. They’re gone,” Jasmine whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck. “ _Take me_ , Alistair. Please.”

He hardly needed the encouragement. And yet… That boyish glint was shining in his eyes, pupils darkening as he relished the view before him. “Say it again,” he urged, bending to kiss the lowest curve of her abdomen.

Jasmine’s brow arched incredulously. “Please?”

He shook his head, nibbling at her belly and whispering, “No, _all of it._ Again.”

“Take me Alistair!”

“’Please’?” He prompted, fingers ghosting over her core beguilingly.

She groaned, clawing at his shoulders in need, “Take me - please, Alistair!”

Smirking against her flushed skin, he decided to reward her.

Amell sank back with a breathless cry when he crawled up over her, his weight pinning her down behind the desk as strong, calloused hands lifted her knees. Alistair groaned into her neck when at last he could feel her wet heat against him. No clothes, no desks, and no interruptions - at last, she was _his_. He ground his hardness against her entrance and relished the choking gasps that fell from her lips.

“Please… please Alistair…”

Jasmine threw her head back with a breathless cry, her mouth falling open when he thrust into her. She was so slick, so _tight_ , and all for him. He would always marvel at that. Her muscles convulsed around him, her body adjusting to his girth slowly. Alistair’s head spun - maker, but she was slowly destroying him with every rise and fall of that glorious, scarred chest.

His body screamed for friction, and broken as his restraint was, Alistair obeyed his instincts.

Alistair’s eyes fluttered shut when her body accepted him the second time, her walls clenching down on him enough to make him see stars. “Jasmine,” he hissed, pumping into her in rhythm with her mounting sighs, “Maker but you’re beautiful.”

Shaking hands crept over his shoulders. Delicate fingers clawed at his shirt, nails digging into his muscles even through his tunic. He peered down through half-lidded eyes, enthralled as her mouth formed a sweet ‘o’. Beads of sweat were forming on her brow, trickling down her neck, trailing down the valley between those pert, swaying breasts. Oh how he longed to follow the glistening trail the droplets left behind! Dipping his head, Alistair laved at her salty skin, tracing her scars with his tongue, doing is utmost to ignore the burning need that was flaring deep within him. His senses were filled with her and only her. Every breath was permeated with her scent, his lips tingled with her taste, his fingers ached to hold her closer, always closer…

Alistair’s body throbbed in warning and he groaned, biting his lip to hold off his pleasure just a little while longer.

_No - not yet! Must_ _… Last…_

He sped up, rising on his forearms, struggling to steady his ragged breathing. His body shuddered violently when Jasmine keened, the new angle allowing him to penetrate her even more deeply. Alistair hit that secret place within her and _Maker,_ the way she clenched around him…

“Alistair… Oh… _Oh!_ ” Jasmine was lost now. Her hair fanned out wildly about her shoulders as she writhed, gasping, clawing at his flexing waist in one last desperate attempt to ground herself even as she fell helplessly toward oblivion.

“Tell me,” he whispered, grinding into her and eliciting a broken howl from her throat. “Tell me what you want.”

A moan, low and primal, stirred in her throat. “Harder!” She gasped breathlessly, wrapping her legs tighter around his waist in encouragement.

He was only too happy to oblige. Rolling his body lower against hers, Alistair shivered at the sensation of her nipples dragging along his chest. She arched off the rug, her hips cradling his in a silent, intimate plea for more. The added pressure to her clit only served to make Jasmine wail louder, her eyes squeezing shut and limbs trembling with desire.

“Alistair, oh _Maker yes_ _…_ ”

His fingers were digging into her hips so hard that Alistair was sure he would leave bruises. But he didn’t dare let go. Rising to his knees, he pounded into her relentlessly, worshipping her with every broken syllable that dripped from his swollen mouth…

_“Alistair…”_ Jasmine gripped his hair, fingers gripping at the nape of his neck, twining with the damp locks that hung there. “Alistair… Al… Alist…” His name degenerated into wanton groans, dancing on her lips with every renewed thrust of their joining.

He tasted copper on his tongue as he bit down on his lip again. But it wasn’t working this time. His erection pulsated, a strangle cry escaping him when he felt his crown strike the deepest part of her. “Jasmine, I can’t—”

White heat washed over him. He was utterly blind to all else, too consumed by the shared scream that swelled from both of their chests, the rocking of their bodies, the pleasure that dragged them over the edge of that precipice together. Alistair held her fast, clinging to her as they rode that blissful crest. Somewhere beyond he could hear a voice, _his_ voice, shattered and hoarse, repeating her name over and over as he spent himself inside her. Jasmine was gasping for air when he finally was released from the throes of his orgasm. He came back to himself slowly, shivering as the trickling sweat cooled on his back. Alistair’s shoulders quivered from exhaustion. Surrendering with a weak shudder, he slipped from her and collapsed onto the rug, his chest heaving from the effort.

Every breath seemed to be so perfectly slow, languid in the afterglow. Somehow his arms found her, their bodies coming together in a tangle of sweat-slicked limbs. Alistair let his eyes drift shut as he savoured the moment. He rested his chin on her forehead, focusing on the gentle beating of her pulse. He could feel it slowing, calming, easing now that the aftershocks were letting her descend back to earth once more.

Jasmine’s eyes were glassy when she finally lifted her head. Slender legs slid against his, sending a pleasured tingling up his spine. “You are incredible,” she whispered, pressing a kiss between his heaving pectoral muscles.

“Does this mean I should be thanking you?” Alistair rasped, watching as her lips curled into a mischievous grin. “After what you did earlier—”

“Well,” she smirked, tracing her fingers along his sweat-slicked chest, “you _did_ say ‘under the desk’.”

Staring at the ornate ceiling and stroking her hair, Alistair panted, “I said, quite specifically, to _hide_ under the desk.”

Jasmine giggled. “Come now, Alistair, don’t try to tell me you haven’t fantasised about this.”

“What? No! I… I mean…” His cheeks coloured indignantly. “And if I have…?”

The redhead let out a bubbling laugh, nestling her forehead against his shoulder comfortably. “Hrmm,” she breathed against his skin, coaxing yet another shiver from the man beneath her, “tell me more?”

Alistair stared at her for a long moment. Then, a wicked smirk tugged on his mouth and a lustful shadow crept across his eyes. “Gladly,” he whispered, “but this time, promise me one thing.”

“Oh?” She lifted her head. “And what’s that?”

“No surprise visits from the Queen of Ferelden?”

Jasmine pressed her palms to his broad shoulders, arching up just enough to trail her bare toes down the underside of his sensitive knees. “Then we will just have to be vigilant, Alistair dearest.” She captured his mouth once more, laughing into the kiss.


End file.
